Rediscovered from a copy of perpetual-lab.blogspot.com, now defunct

Privacy, July 25th 2007

The essence of a blog, or so I’ve thought till now, is to speak openly to the entire world. Just as in a book, except that using book technology someone pays to enter the world within the covers. So why have I suddenly become “scared of my own shadow”, as they say, and restricted A Wayfarer’s Notes to invited readers only?

Sorry to have put up this barrier which deserves an explanation. A quite friendly series of emails from a reader / acquaintance left me feeling a little sensitive. As shadows go, he is not really a threat, but the human animal’s primary impulse is safety. Even spirituality is subservient to it. In fact spirituality is an expression of that impulse. My post Fearlessness* written just before the recent series of memoirs—which I impatiently wait to continue, with many more episodes prepared mentally—explored that theme.

This is a funny time of day to be writing. I sit with a quilt wrapped round my legs and glance through the lace curtains at the lightening sky. It’s 4:30 am and I sip tea to persuade my doubting body that it is all right to waken for a journey that won’t end till sleep tonight. “Journey” comes from the French “journée” meaning “day-time” or “the day’s length”.

Our life is divided into separate journeys and the magic of night, or of sleep which is almost synonymous with night, is to take us through a cleansing cycle (the circadian rhythm) so that we awake not quite where we left off.

It’s a similar rhythm in blogging. A post, like a journée, is bounded by its beginning and end, but leads on to the next. I have become fond of its form, and delighted with a small band of readers whose input or silent presence is so valuable. So even if I don’t want to speak to the whole world yet, blogging has become an addiction.

I dictated a post a few days ago to be published in my other blog “Reading Without Tears”. It seemed to emerge fully-formed into the pocket voice-recorder and the outline of what I said comes back when I mentally retrace the route of the lunchtime stroll which witnessed its birth. “This will need no editing”, I thought. Except I accidentally deleted it prior to transcription.

Its gist was that writing is a pact between writer and reader. Both must have something to gain. But what they get from it is not quite the same. So it is some kind of miracle when a writer can please a reader.

I write to keep sane, to get a psychic equilibrium without which I feel restless and unfulfilled. It is one of several ways to overcome the solitary confinement of human life. The majority are gregarious, sociable, keen members of the club called Humanity. I’m an Outsider and the memoir sequence traces to the source of how that came about unless it was innate; in a way intended to encourage the reader to make that same journey, to retrace the same steps.

But I realised yesterday, via that friendly email correspondence, that the journey could involve dangers.

*Fearlessness, July 3, 2007

There are many reasons for religion, but I think the top one is the conquest of fear. It’s at first sight extraordinary that you and I have never come across this thesis before. But . . . consider. Is it not true?

Mind and body say different things.

The body, that is, the ancient intelligence from earlier stages in evolution, says “Fear with its brother pain is what helps me to stay alive. Without the warnings of fear I would certainly be dead!”

The mind, this recent addition, this reflecting “I” which knows how to yearn for the unseen, says “If it wasn’t for fear, I’d be happy!”

The natural man respects fear. The man ready for religion is open to the suggestion that “Perfect Love casteth out fear.” (I John 4:18)

What are we to do with fear? It halts behaviours which put our life and wellbeing at risk. Should we not respect it rather than bypass it? As I have learned from harsh experience, suppressing emotion—fear being one of the most powerful—leads to various kinds of illness which the body has evolved to resist the foolishness of mind.

So how will we protect ourselves against fear? The rich man’s way is to live in a castle of stone, employ a small army and pay for the best doctors to prolong his life.

The poor man’s way is to embrace religion.

There are strong traditions which link fighters with religious faith, for fighters must be fearless. We can overcome fear, at the price of a sacrifice: to pretend there is no difference between the natural conscience and some artificial concept of salvation imposed upon us.

The tradition of the warrior-saint is seen in British Christianity: martyrs; King Arthur and his knights; St George and the dragon; the Red-Cross Knights and their Crusades; “Onward Christian Soldiers”; the Salvation Army. All of them demonstrate how religion fosters courage.

On Saturday I was fearful of an event I had to attend, but it was irrational so I suppressed it. This put me out of sorts. I did not feel well. I got fatigued and slept. All this was a ritual. Like the actor afflicted with stage-fright, I knew I would go on the stage and everything would be all right. In the end, I made myself a reason to be courageous: “I’m doing this for S.” In the event all was well and S. had no need of my gesture.

Look at religion and see how much of it is designed to rid us of fear.

I added in a footnote: There is at least one religion which still today rules by intimidation. Thus fear is overcome conditionally, by staying within the doctrine’s boundaries, as defined by its holy book.